Haunted
by AngelCeleste85
Summary: Songfic: "Haunted" by Evanescence. Christine has a disturbing premonition of the days to come, the night before DJT's premiere. Creeped myself out writing this one, so enjoy!


Disclaimer: I don't own him. Or her. Or them. Or myself. Well, that much is mine, but the rest is unlicensed creative use of someone else's creations.  
  
Author's Notes: Song lyrics are from "Haunted" by Evanescence. It was recommended to me as an idea and I've had it rattling around in my head for a few weeks now since I actually heard it and I'm quite impressed with the song. I hope my story does it some justice.  
  
Author's Note#2: I've only got a few more sentences to go on this. I'm rereading this, making a few minor tweaks n the story, and all I can say is. WTF?! lolol Even *I* don't know where the hell this one came from!!! Shamelessly ripping a few minor lines out of ALW, but the timeline is confusing *me* so I don't think anyone else'll have *any* difficulty keeping track of that. lol!  
  
Author's Note#3 - It's official. I am officially blaming this one on several overly imaginative Muses and one depressing punk-pop song combining with too much Mah-johng and not enough sleep!  
  
// song lyrics // [[ Christine's thoughts ]]  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Haunted (by AngelCeleste85)  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Christine."  
  
Caught in the act of changing, the petite singer froze. There was silence in the room with the absence of the rustling of clothes. Even the inevitable racket of stagehands, dancers and singers running up and down the halls with a major performance due to premiere in less than half an hour seemed faded and part of another world.  
  
"Don Juan," wasn't it?  
  
[[ No, you goose, it's "Der Rosenkavalier," and this isn't a performance, just a dress rehearsal! ]]  
  
After a moment, she relaxed. Her mind was playing tricks on her, nothing more, Christine decided, and finished climbing into the gown her role required.  
  
// Long-lost words whisper slowly to me, //  
  
"Christine."  
  
She jumped from her seat and whirled towards the mirror, unspoken words of reproach forming on her lips. It couldn't be. Not after so long... Quickly she pulled her bodice up. It seemed to her she hadn't heard that voice in centuries, though she'd heard it only that morning. Hadn't she?  
  
But how was that possible, when Erik was.  
  
Wasn't he?  
  
"Christine.."  
  
But the voice was unmistakable. Nobody on earth had ever had Erik's voice. the voice that drifted now through the mirror, through her mind.  
  
"Christine."  
  
Christine's hands fumbled at the drawer of her vanity, finally yanking it open. Hurriedly she lifted out her diary, several sheets of blank and expensive stationery paper (courtesy of Raoul) and a long-dead black rose - her hands trembled holding that last and the dry petals rustled as if trying to speak to her in death...  
  
// Still can't find what keeps me here, //  
  
Finally she found what she was looking for - the newspaper page from that day so long ago, only a few short weeks ago - a day that she could not remember having ever dawned.  
  
"Come to me."  
  
Three short words. She found the words she was looking for, though she hadn't realized she was looking for them, read them over and over again like a talisman against his voice, reverberating in her head.  
  
"Erik is dead."  
  
[[ I buried him myself. ]]  
  
"Christine." the voice whispered softly, inexorably.  
  
[[ Didn't I? ]]  
  
She couldn't remember. The paper fluttered, forgotten, from numb fingertips to land on the floor with barely a crinkle.  
  
[[ Then why am I still hearing his voice from behind. ]]  
  
"Where have you been?" the singer whispered, staring not at the mirror, but beyond it, seeking the spectre of the man whose voice was so clear in her mind. "What do you want?"  
  
[[ Why, when you finally had me, did you push me away? ]]  
  
// When all this time I've been so hollow inside. //  
  
"Christine."  
  
[[ What am I still doing here? ]]  
  
"Christine."  
  
[[ I should have left weeks ago, when Raoul asked me to marry him. ]]  
  
"Christine."  
  
[[ But I miss Erik so much. and he would not be pleased to find me getting ready to run away with Raoul again. ]]  
  
Only the cold mirror stood behind Christine, reflecting her auburn curls flung wildly around her face, her wide eyes slightly too big for her pale face, dressed for the performance in twenty minutes.  
  
Yet she had the feeling that she was not alone.  
  
"They said you were dead, Erik." she whispered. [[ But now I know. ]]  
  
// (I know you're still there.) //  
  
Trembling hands found the catch on this side of the mirror that allowed passage through the mirror from this side. As it spun open, Christine was aware of a blast of air, seemingly icier than usual, and carrying with it the scent of the lake far below. And, she imagined, it carried also the faint but foul scent of death.  
  
"Christine."  
  
// Watching me, wanting me, //  
  
"Come to me." She could feel the spell he was working on her, helpless to resist it.  
  
// I can feel you pull me down, //  
  
"Erik." she whispered in reply. [[ I don't know the way. And I'm afraid. ]]  
  
// Fearing you, loving you, //  
  
"Don't be, Christine. I'll guide you," came the soft rejoinder.  
  
And he would, she knew with a certainty he would, as he always had before, be her guide through the endless labyrinth below.  
  
[[ // I know I'll find you somehow. // ]]  
  
Unhesitating now, she plunged through the mirror and into the darkness below as the mirror snapped shut behind her.  
  
That haunting voice continued in Christine's head, guiding her blind steps through the pitch-darkness with gentle, firm confidence, brooking no argument. She heard music in her mind, music that had been outlawed at the Paris Opera House since that terrible night.  
  
[[ What terrible night? ]]  
  
. the opening bars of "Don Juan Triumphant."  
  
[[ Where are you, Erik? ]]  
  
// Hunting you, I can smell you alive, //  
  
Christine shivered in her cloak and gown. Her footsteps echoed down the cold corridors of the cellars as the footsteps of the Angel of Death, a swift and relentless tattoo, keeping time to the music in her mind.  
  
// Your heart pounding in my head. //  
  
All the while she heard his voice, offering gentle encouragement when she felt she could go on no further. This interminable journey seemed so much longer than it ever had before. and still he called her onward!  
  
// Calling me, killing me //  
  
Even moving as quickly as she could toward the lake and the underground mausoleum that Erik had once called home - it was a mild shock to remember that it had in fact been his home, and now served its true purpose as his tomb! - it still felt like she would freeze before she reached him.  
  
// I won't let you pull me down, //  
  
She fell. Christine could not have said how it happened, or when. She was running through the empty darkness of the cellars, her costume's full skirts gathered in one hand while the other trailed along the walls, running as much to escape Erik and his music as to reach him deep underground. And the next moment, she was motionless on the black stone, unaware of how much time had passed.  
  
// Saving me, raping me, //  
  
"Get up, Christine," his voice whispered. "You must not stay here, it will be the death of you."  
  
She wanted to laugh, but she didn't have the energy for it. A dead man's voice invaded her mind, the way his music invaded her memory, with warning for her life. She had been running forever, hadn't she the right to rest a little bit? Erik had always let her rest before on the journeys down.  
  
"Not this time, Christine. Hurry."  
  
Wearily she got to her feet, beyond caring if her costume got dirty, guessing nevertheless that the cream silk was both sweat-stained by now and filthy.  
  
[[ Costume? They'll be so angry - the performance. ]]  
  
"Keep going, Christine," the calm voice within commanded.  
  
Christine acquiesced.  
  
// Watching me. //  
  
The sound of water moving slowly reached her ears as she reached what she knew was the last turning.  
  
[[ The boat, Erik - ]]  
  
"Will be waiting," Erik's voice reassured her.  
  
[[ I don't know how to use it. ]]  
  
"You will," was his cryptic reply.  
  
There it was, drifting across the lake. It touched the shore without a sound and Christine climbed in, automatically taking her usual seat in the bow so that Erik in the stern could pole. The boat did not move and she started.  
  
[[ God, what am I doing? ]]  
  
She picked up the long pole that rested across the sternsheets and hefted it. It was unfamiliar and heavy to her hand - and yet all too familiar, suddenly.  
  
As she poled, it seemed that she could almost see the man who had guided her down, sitting in her place at the bow, turned to look at her. She could feel the eyes she could not see, watching her with their habitual unblinking stare.  
  
// Watching me, wanting me, //  
  
. like a lizard, or a snake.  
  
"Come back to me, Christine," she thought she heard him whisper.  
  
// I can feel you pull me down, //  
  
She dared not to look at him until the boat had touched against the far shore, at his front door. Erik - or his shade - disembarked first, extending a white-gloved hand to help her from the boat. She noted the gleam of gold on the third finger.  
  
[[ That's odd - Erik never wears jewelry. ]]  
  
// Fearing you, loving you, //  
  
She took his hand, and followed him into the house.  
  
// I won't let you pull me down. //  
  
"What do you want, Erik?"  
  
// Watching me, wanting me, //  
  
At the sound of his name the man disappeared. The strange spell that he had woven - had always been able to weave - upon her with his mesmerizing voice vanished. Truth crashed in with a blinding and deafening silence.  
  
// I can feel you pull me down, //  
  
Christine nearly screamed. In the darkness of his home - no, his tomb - the young woman could clearly smell the corruption here. It was silent, oppressively so, more so after his voice and his music. She was in a madman's mausoleum and very quickly going mad herself.  
  
"What are you afraid of, Christine?"  
  
Christine found herself clawing blindly at the walls with bloody fingernails. "Erik?" She stopped trying to tear the walls down, though her heart pounded.  
  
[[ What am I afraid of? ]]  
  
"Come and see," he said softly, and his voice betrayed his fear now.  
  
[[ In there? No! ]]  
  
She knew what she would find in Erik's inner sanctum - the dead body of a man whose love - love for her! - had killed him. The remains of a twisted body, surrounded by the remains of a twisted if brilliant mind. Christine herself had laid him to rest there.  
  
// Fearing you, loving you, //  
  
There was no answer.  
  
There was also nothing for it.  
  
Christine pushed open the door of Erik's inner sanctum - the place that had once been his composing room, now his decomposing room, an irreverent part of her mind cracked, to keep her from cracking entirely. She wasn't sure how well it was working.  
  
The sickly sweet stench was worse than ever here. Resolutely she pushed on, to the coffin mounted on the dais in place of a mattress. unlocked the cover of the casket.  
  
And gazed in pity at the man she found there.  
  
Suddenly it didn't seem to matter that Erik was dead, that his body was sitting right her in front of her and that the stench of its decay filled her nostrils and clung to her hair and skin and clothing. Erik was also across the coffin from her, body untouched by ruin save for the scarring she knew his mask concealed. His black wig gleamed in a light from a source she could not see, his one perfect cheek was turned toward her as he studied the body that once had been his.  
  
That once had been his.  
  
"Is this what you were afraid of, Christine?" Erik asked, turning toward her.  
  
Mute, she shook her head. It was all coming down on her at once now - Erik was dead. Her teacher, her mentor, her guardian angel - was dead. She hadn't said goodbye when she had come back to bury him, for all the chances she had had to say it, and the lack of closure was painfully obvious to her now.  
  
[[ Why didn't I see it before? ]]  
  
"What were you afraid of, then?"  
  
[[ What was I afraid of? ]]  
  
She couldn't speak, staring at the body beneath her.  
  
"Think it, then. There are advantages to this state, you understand, think it and I will hear."  
  
[[ I was afraid of you, Erik - that you would. ]]  
  
"That I had retreated - planning to appear again like at the New Years' Masquerade?"  
  
Christine nodded. [[ Or that I had made a terrible mistake, that you were. still alive. ]]  
  
"And do you understand now, that there is no mistake?"  
  
His protégé nodded slowly.  
  
"Erik?"  
  
He looked at her, studying her once more with that basilisk stare, eyes amber in the darkness of his shade's face in the same way as they had been in life.  
  
"I'm ready now. to say goodbye."  
  
Erik nodded. A few steps carried his spare frame around the foot of the casket, the heavy black opera cloak trailing behind him. His lips twisted in a smile, unused to the expression, as she put her arms around his thin spectral shoulders, buried her face in the lapels of his dress jacket, and wept.  
  
" 'Don Juan' was the end of everything, wasn't it?" she murmured into his chest as he held her close.  
  
// I won't let you pull me down. //  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
Christine woke slowly when a hand shook her by the shoulder. For a moment she was slightly disoriented, staring in shock at Erik's half-masked face bent over her in concern. Her nose was stuffed and her eyes felt puffy - with another shock she realized she'd been crying.  
  
"Are you well, Christine?"  
  
"I - I'm. not sure," she stammered.  
  
Erik rose. "My fault, certainly, I should not have let you push yourself so hard with the premier of 'Don Juan' tomorrow night," he said. Now that she was awake, he was retreating to a comfortable distance for her. For them both. "Do you wish something to drink?"  
  
So it was back to treating her like an invalid for the next day, just to baby her voice! Christine almost laughed, but for the sense of foreboding the mention of his opera had raised within her, and shook her head. Erik nodded and closed the door.  
  
[[ 'Don Juan' is the end of everything. ]]  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
On the other side of the door, Erik paused in thought.  
  
"'Don Juan' was the end of everything." That was what she had said, whispered, in her sleep as tears coursed down and wet the pillows.  
  
{{ Well, why not? }}  
  
Erik began to make his plans.  
  
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Finis  
  
Feedback please? I know you've got to be like, "WTF?" but then, so am I so you're in good company there. Don't let it stop you from giving me a piece of your mind, publishing something this crazed.. 


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